


Maybe it's that simple

by becca_letters



Category: Vampire Diaries (TV)
Genre: Christmas, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-12-27
Updated: 2010-12-27
Packaged: 2017-11-10 13:13:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,796
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/466685
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/becca_letters/pseuds/becca_letters
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tyler/Caroline and mistletoe huh?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Maybe it's that simple

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I don't own the Vampire Diaries either. I know, it's such a tough world we live in.  
> AN: for [](http://stainofmylove.livejournal.com/profile)[**stainofmylove**](http://stainofmylove.livejournal.com/) because I believe in double doses! ;)

It’s been six days since he’s spoken to her. He’s more than a little afraid to. She stayed with him all night, under the full moon until she couldn’t anymore. He’d never known anyone like her. So fearless.

But still, he knows that she’s trying to get back together with Matt. He knew that if he hadn’t interrupted them that night at her place, they probably would have officially reconciled or something. And it’s totally not like Matt doesn’t deserve it.

Tyler understands the reasons Caroline broke up with Matt, but they don’t really hold if she’s still in love with him.

Tyler only half understands why the thought of that angers him so much.

But it’s Christmas Eve, so he’s trying his best to not to think about it.

It’s time for another traditional party at the Lockwood mansion. Another political move by his mother, the acting mayor. His mother who is so insanely blind to all things supernatural that revolve around the town of Mystic Falls.

Tyler can’t remember a time before he knew that something was wrong with this town, his family. A time when he didn’t have to worry about strange noises that no one else could hear causing car accidents, or dead fathers. When uncles didn’t just appear then disappear at will, but actually called and kept in touch. A time when he didn’t have to worry about the phase of the moon and how many pounds of leverage the climbing equipment he used to chain himself could hold. A time when he didn’t have to worry about killing people. A time when his best friend wasn’t already dead, in her own special way.

It’s a shirt and tie occasion, like all the good Lockwood parties are. It’s a big surreal because as quickly as he does heal, he still feels sore from that night, a not so gentle aching in his muscles whenever he gets up too quickly or the crackling of his joints whenever he stretches. The button-down shirt pulls against muscles that were torn and reformed only nights earlier.

He knows that Caroline is going to make an appearance. She always does, but he really doesn’t know what to say to her. He doesn’t know how to justify what happened between them in the cellar, can’t explain what it meant to have her there. She refused to leave him until he was too far gone to recognize her, then she returned when she knew it was safe to hold his hand as he cried. She’d stretched out on the cold hard ground, littered with fresh claw markings, the dirt sticking under his short and tattered fingernails. She’d placed her head in the crook of his neck, her arms wrapping tightly, until he’d felt strong enough to go home. It might have been hours they lay together like that.

Spooning.

He’d driven her back to her car, and he’d driven home. They hadn’t spoken since.

He stops at the mirror just outside of his dad’s office. Since learning the truth about Mystic Falls, the reality of werewolves and vampires, he’s spent a lot of time in that musty room, smelling the books lining the shelves and drinking out of his dad’s private stash. Tonight, it’s a pleasant single malt that’s running through his bloodstream, dark and bitter, burning like only alcohol can.

He adjusts his tie ever so slightly before heading out to the party on the main floor.

The music is dull, old fashioned Christmas Carols ringing through the house which has been professionally decorated with twinkling lights and garlands of ivy and holly. The Christmas Tree, a must have at any Christmas time function, is covered with Baccarat and Tiffany ornaments, too expensive for just anyone, but just enough for the Mayor of a small town.

There isn’t one ornament with any sentimental value. Nothing that Tyler made when he was a child, or that was bought to commemorate first or second Christmases as a family. The tree is just as fake as the smile plastered on his mother’s face. The one soon to be found on his as well.

“There you are,” she says to him as he walks towards the front door. “You’re late.” She whispers it into his ear. It’s not like he hasn’t heard it before. _You’re a Lockwood. There are expectations. A host is to greet his guests at the door when entering._ If there was a class in old fashion etiquette, Tyler thinks he could teach it. Though he’d teach it with a begrudging smile on his face.

“Merry Christmas,” he says to the first family that walk through, then the next and the next, shaking hands cold from the winter weather, watching the snow fall in waves as the outside door opens and closes with each new arrival.

An hour of pleasantries and then she arrives.

He’s never seen her in blue before, or if he has, he never really noticed it. But there were a lot of things he never noticed before. The dress is vibrant, cut straight across at the top with two little straps holding everything in place. It does some weird pull thing to the side, but he barely notices anything beyond the colour. She’s beautiful. Inhumanly so.

He shakes her hand, like he has so many others, and wishes her a “Merry Christmas” but the whole time, he’s busy thinking of ways to get her out of her dress, trying to figure out just how necessary those straps are, wondering if she’s wearing the same colour underneath it. Wondering how much effort it would take for his hands to mess up those bouncy curls of blonde hair.

She looks at him, really looks, like she’s trying to figure out what he’s hiding beneath the pressed cotton of his shirt and the silk of his tie. He doesn’t know why. She’s already seen every part of him. Still she stares at him like she has something to say and he can’t look away. Like time is stopping for them so that they can figure whatever it is that’s between them, because it’s more than just sexual attraction. She’s hot, he’s never disputed that. But this is—

His mother places a hand on his arm as the door opens and a new flurry of guests arrive. When he’s able to turn back to continue whatever non-conversation they were having Caroline is gone. Lost in the sea of party goers.

It’s another solid hour of greeting before he’s allowed to go and mingle. Elena and the two Salvatores are there somewhere, so are Bonnie and Matt and half the football team. Caroline is probably with them, so he moves to seek her out. To an outsider he probably looks casual and relaxed, one hand the pocket of his dress pants, the other wrapped around a glass of bourbon he managed to sneak off the bar. Inside, the gears of his mind are turning rapidly, and he resists the urge to use the scent of her perfume as a guide.

He politely pushes through the crowd, scanning with sharp eyes until he spots her. She’s standing underneath the mistletoe, springs of white berries hung from a really ugly branch. His heart pounds hard and heavy in his chest. He wonders if she can hear it over the noise from the guests and the music that filters through their bodies.

She’s talking to Bonnie about something. Whatever it is, it must be good because she has this huge smile on her face, which only makes her more beautiful.

He wants to kiss her. Feel her red lips widen and part against his. Taste the alcohol off her tongue, maybe even those sharp teeth against his lip, biting down gently. Wants to feel her hair fall around his fingers and touch the soft skin of her cheek.

But he can’t do any of those things in a room with three hundred other people.

“Hey Care,” he interrupts. Bonnie just smiles at him, like she knows what’s coming. Come to think of it, there were rumours a while back that she was psychic or something. Maybe she is. “Can I talk to you for a sec?”

She looks to Bonnie, who gives a slight nod, then turns to go find someone – maybe Jeremy Gilbert. Tyler hears they’ve been spending a lot of time together – leaving Caroline free for him.

He takes her by the hand, pulling her along until they’re in a less crowded part of the house, the empty den with antique furniture that everyone is too afraid to sit on.

“Tyler, are you okay? I’ve been worried about y—“ He places a hand on each of her cheeks and presses his lips against hers to cut her off. Her eyes slip shut and he feels her body tense. He guides her back until her shoulders a pushed into the wall by the door, opening his mouth wider on hers, coaxing her lips to do the same.

She growls low, but doesn’t take control. When he’s finally able to taste her, he knows it will never be enough. He’ll never be able to stop.

He struggles against himself, to keep the kiss gentle, to keep his hands from roaming along her curves, down her hip, and the outside of her skirt, then under the soft fabric and up her inner thigh. She reaches for his hand just as it starts to move of its own volition. She laces their fingers together, bringing them to her hip, guiding them. He feels her teeth run soft and slow over his tongue, sharp points threatening but not scraping at him. He thinks that maybe she wants to. He knows that he would let her.

“You were under the mistletoe,” he tells her when he needs to break for air. She giggles and kisses along his jawline like it’s something she’s done a thousand times before. Maybe it is just as easy as that.

She turns and flips them so he’s the one pressing into the wall. She stops then, the smile falling off her face as she stares at his neck. Her face changes, contorting slightly, and she starts to take deep breaths.

“I don’t want to hurt you,” she whispers, “but I might.”

“I heal fast,” he responds, dragging a finger along the dark veins around her eyes, which have turned a fascinating red colour.

She smiles up at him softly, and her face returns to normal. To the Caroline that he’s seen almost every day of his life, but never noticed before a few weeks ago.

Those six days of doubt and worry disappear as she kisses him again, the twinkling lights of the Christmas party outside the room all but forgotten.  



End file.
